Village Thugs Have No Mercy : Here Is What They Did To Me

Its 12:00 a.m and some strange number has just beeped my poor phoneThis number ends with 437. It’s very familiar to a number some lady whom I fell with in love at first sight gave me. My phone fell off and the battery popped off so I didn’t save the number. I knew that this beeping number was her number and that she needed to hear a sweet bass before sleeping.

I was so excited and left my bed to go and purchase airtime worth 20/=. Don’t forget that I was already in my normal sleeping gear. Red pair of shorts and the Ronaldo vest.

At the shop, some rain started to drizzle so I was forced to take a short cut. Unfortunately the short cut led me to some three thieves who were at work.

These village thieves normally take advantage of the rain to execute their duties. These muggers were going to steal my phone. That I was sure.

I took off my vest and began acting like a mad man. And talking alone in some language I assumed was Japanese mixed with the Nigerian Igbo accent.

When I was almost near them, one of them said to the other "This mad man has some nice buttocks, catch him for me!"Isokey, so nowadays thieves in our village are gays ? I ran for my dear a**.

Luckily the left me alone when some Maasai watchman popped from nowhere. I loaded the recharge card so that I call this beeping lady to console me for my hard work and runs.

Calling the number, I expected some soothing soprano voice only for my expectations to be thwarted by a bass male voice on the other side of the phone saying, "B.O.B my friend. I am the form one who used to sleep on the upper deck in your high school bed. I just wanted to tell you that I remembered how you used to steal other students pens. You remember me ??"

At this point, I took an overdose of sleeping pills, switched off my phone and obeyed the law of sleep.

[B.O.B A Whoof Deh © 2014, Those Are Our Thugs]

My Father In Law Is A Night Runner

The evening was cool and calm as already predicted by Grace Gitonga on the weather news. So at around 8:00pm, I left my grandmother’s house and went to meet Milka. We normally met under a certain mango tree near their home.She looked ecstatic. She hugged me tight and I felt heaven’s door open.We agreed to meet later in the night at 11:00pm so that we would have the chance to speak like young adults full of un-used adrenaline.

At 11:00pm, I cheated my grandmother that I was going to check if the door to the cow shed was locked. She just laughed and told me, ‘Mosna Min Milka’ (Greet for me Milka’s mother). I laughed and she laughed too. She laughed back at me and continued to weave her basket as I left the house blushing all over my face. Even my nose was blushing.I walked towards the scene bare feet, with a red pair of shorts, no underwear and a yellow vest that had an image of Ronaldo the great Brazillian striker on it. In short, I was the village hero just like Ronaldo was to the villagers of Rio de Janeiro.

I looked from a far and saw Milka sleeping under the tree and covering herself in a black bed sheet. I started sweating happily inside my pair of shorts as the pair of shorts began growing small.

I was so full of psyche.I squatted next to her and started calling her diabetic names, "Sweetie, Honey, Sweet Banana. "I called on her four times and she didn’t reply. This forced me to jump on her with kisses of violence. To my shock, this was not Milka but a night runner who was hiding in the mango tree when we were arranging the love meeting.

The night runner laughed like a broken siren, "Pwahahahahahahahahahah! So you are the ones who have been making the grass around here to dry. Pwahahahahahahahahahah! If you are an athlete, start running!."

That’s when I realized that me and Usain Bolt are birds of a certain athletic feather. That’s when I also realised the importance of watching the movie calledApocalypto. This self proclaimed N.A.G.M (Night runners Association Gold Medalist) began chasing me like a cat Chinese chasing a cat that is escaping a butchery.

I ran through my girlfriend’s home as I shouted, ‘A Thief! A Thief is chasing me!’ The dogs in Milka’s homestead turned against me and began chasing me! I strated purring like a cat and hissing like a snake so that they leave me alone. But no, they chased on faster.

The carnivorous best friends of man chased me upto the end of the road. The road ended at a certain pond. I had no option but to swim into the pond. I left on the other side of the pond and into a garden of cabbages. I stood straight in the garden and pretended to be a scare crow as I was full of black mud from the pond.

One thing I knew from the dogs of our village is that they fear Leopards. This notion forced me to start Crying like a Leopard, "CHURR!KWICH ! CHURR!KWICH!” True to my idea, these dogs began running away as a sweat of relief dropped from my nose to vest.I started walking slowly for the obvious reason of being tired. Unfortunately, this night runner had not given up. This time he came riding towards me on top of a fiery bull with very sharp horns.

"You thought you are Usain Bolt, now let’s see." I was so scared. The bull was very thin, hungry and tired though, so he left the bull to rest so that he chases me manually. He was almost catching me when his hungry dogs began eating his cow. The cow was also horny so it thought that the dogs were caressing it yet it was being bitten and being chewed alive.

This didn’t stop him from chasing me.I ran upto my grandmother’s house and hid under her bed. Afraid of coming to my grandmother’s bed, he entered the kitchen to revenge on the food. Night runners are wicked, I knew he would urinate on the kitchen utensils .

After eating three punches of the meal in the pot, I barked like an angry dog and it was now my turn to chase him away as I shouted, "You have eaten food poisoned for the rats you fool!."

Interestingly, the guy ran upto Milka’s home then into the main kitchen where he drank milk and raw eggs to make him vomit the poison

That’s the time Milka too came back from the mango tree. She lit her torch into the face of the man only for both of us to realize that the man was her father.

[B.O.B A Whoof Deh © 2014, This Is Athletically Unfair ]

How I Stopped Sleeping In Class While In High School

It was an after lunch lesson and we had just eaten a heavily built githeri and uji (a mixture of beans and maize boiled together and served with a mug of porridge. This kind of meal was a perfect sleeping pill for fellas like me especially now that this Biology madam was taking long to come to class for the afternoon lesson.

I decided to take a small nap just before the madam came in. unfortunately, the nap got the better of me and I not only fell deep asleep but also began pouring thick saliva from my mouth while dreaming that I was playing cha baba na cha mama(a game of  father and mother played by children of between 4 years old to 10 years old).

While in the dream, I was given the part of a security dog because I was ugly when young.I was guarding the family of my friend Billy Arnold Maze.

As a dog within the dream, I was chasing people and barking while in real life,my desk mate Billy Arnold was pushing bones to be used for the Biology lesson into my mouth.

In the dream, I hid under a tree to wait for thieves while in class I was hiding under my locker which was in the front  row.

Madam Grace entered the classroom and taped me on the back and my classmates began hushing their tones, "SHSHSH!” While in my dream I thought I was being told to “shika" (catch).

I started chasing Madam Grace in real life while I was barking like a horny dog at the same time. I chased her upto the principal’s office

That’s when all the male teachers in the staffroom arrested me and tied me up with ropes. I was expelled for reasons like, "Smoking bhang in school with intention to rape.

 [B.O.B A Whoof Deh (c) 2014]

How To Identify A FIRST YEAR (Even After Orientations)

‘A first year is supposed to be seen and not heard’. That is what my grandmother Gaudensia told me when I was joining campus. ‘Just act like a fool!’, she added. My friends from campus can bear you witness that I followed this properly until they were left to wonder at times if I ever passed my form four examinations.

But true to the aforementioned phrase, I literally believe that a first year is supposed to be seen, take for instance : You sit next to the busiest campus street, whoever you see in new denim/jeans trousers with new cloth stickers still hanging on them like they are advertising the trouser company, no need to tell you that this is a freshman we are talking about here.

You see a lady struggling to walk in stilettos/wedge/high heels, like she is a kangaroo dancing gully creeper, that’s probably a fresh girl fresh from the village and was promised her first pair of heels if she could defy the odds of the gods of stupidity in her village and passed exams to join campus.

While I was in first year, I didn’t know that the hostel we stayed in was only for first years. So on the first night, at 5:00a.m in the morning, I heard the next door neighbors wake up and pick their cups and ran towards the administration block to serve the morning porridge like they used to do in high school. The security men at the administration blocked laughed them off and told them that in campus, people ate in a Mess. So during lunch, the fresh men went into a hotel and ordered all meals possible, sat on top of tables, making noise, eating, throwing food, dancing and chattering like standard one monkeys. They were literally eating in a “Mess” can you guess ? They ended up in the school’s K.M.T.C i.e. Krazy Mental Test Clinic.

I strongly believe that the university failed in the orientation of first years especially in the social realms. The university only focused on orientation based on the school rules on the Green Book of school rules that the Security General of the university crammed the way he had crammed the colours of his wife’s toothbrushes. Come on general, these rules are meant to be crammed by students. Find a way of programming an operating system for humans to install these rules in these fresh men.

Of course when you walk into a pub and see a man struggling to cough and smoke simultaneously and pretending to be dancing in a possessed manner anytime the dee jay plays reggae music, just know that this is a first year who needs to be caned properly because he is cancering himself contrary to the parents beliefs that he is in an academic trip. Yet it is just a trip by nicotine to cloud nine.

Parents, some of you simply score excellently in ignorance. Your son is pursuing Sociology yet he convinces you to send him money for an academic trip to planet Pluto then you agree. He is not even doing Geography. So who is he going to Socialise with in Pluto ? Plato or Aristotle? Your first year kid becomes even more creative and tells you, ‘daddy, add me more money. You know we shall have a stop over in Mars and I want to buy Aristotles geometric set in a bookshop over there because they sell more original sets customized by Aris himself before he died’. And you get so excited at how bright your son is that he even knows that Aristotle was nicknamed ‘Aris’.

On my orientation day, I sat next to a lady called Mercy. Second name withheld for the purposes of my strong Christian faith. It was love at first sight and I became her personal orientor with immediate effect for the rest of the semester because she too fall in love at first sight and in this case love was not only blind but also deaf because she focused so much on the things I was telling her till she forgot to hear the VCs speech of orientation. I must say that I oriented her well for the whole semester without competition. We used to do the orientations in my hostel room, in her room and during clubs picnics and outings within campus.

A first year is just a first year. It’s on the orientation day that I witnessed a lady from the school of arts and social sciences come in her full high school uniform to the meeting thinking that it was going to be like a high school parade. Of course we laughed and from that day on, she lost her self esteem terribly never to be redeemed easily because no man wanted to seduce a lady who doesn’t know that in campus people do not wear school uniforms. Her self esteem got a boost when newer fresh men who didn’t know her uniform parable joined campus and started seducing her cougarly.

Funnily, my first year room mate couldn’t be spared the rod because he used to sleep in the next days attire so that he just woke up and rushed to class. His name was Paul. A very weird character who didn’t even know how to cook. On the first day, he attempted to cook ugali using a spoon and that’s the day I swore never to cook with him again. He though relieved me comically one day when he wanted to roast peanuts using cooking oil. To me this was the joke of the year because I have never seen groundnuts being oiled on a pan.

All said and done, I am planning to hold a hunger walk in all campuses to convince all university administrators to embrace social orientation or else, male students shall be taking the humble advantages engraved in the ‘personal orientation of a female first year’.

[B.O.B A Whoof Deh – Analyse and Keep My Words, October 2014 ©]

The Daughter Of A Prostitute

A survivor
Of the cursed womb
That walks at night.

Indeed an unlucky kid
Her mother, a night nurse,
Her unknown father,
A father of many
Whom only her mother knows.

Its not her mistake,
Poor daughter of a Malaya
That in the ghetto she’s brought up
Though many fathers she sees
Caressing her mother
On the creaky spring bed
At night when she’s forced
To sleep outside
And do homework by the street lamps.

Poor daughter of Malaya
Dumped on the ground
To make space on the bed,
For her nocturnal fathers,
Or on the mat to spend nights filled with “bad” echoes
As she sleeps between
Black pots of food
And patrolling rats of the house.

Poor daughter of Malaya
An unlucky baby…….
This daughter of a night whore
Whom before birth
Was mercilessly tormented
With a tight belt
On her pregnant mothers belly
To suffocate her to death
Plus her hairless head
Burnt by abortion chemicals,
But she survived….

Down pit latrines they are dumped
Daughters of malayas
For latrines and mtaros are the easier way
And the mother is a girl again
“repaired and holy”
By murder of innocent souls
That might have grown
To be bankers, lawyers, teachers or even presidents
And ready to date teens…
After being “repaired”,
The mother is ready to date a teen boy
From high school or college.

Poor daughter of Malaya….
A discharge from
The uterus of street walking
All I know is that her mom is a malaya
And her dad is a drunken master
And that she too will become a whore.

Poor daughter of Malaya
Will never taste
Motherly love
But only feel the hard chests of gym carriers
With dried thighs
When her mother is gone
To earn their daily bread
While daughter of  Malaya
Sleeps next to her urine
Overflowing from her bladderless vagina.

Poor daughter of Malaya
Only me the poet feels her pain
And knows her secrets for her future
And her hopes and dreams.

The future that
She wants to create
From the sleepless nights she spends
Doing he homeworks
With koroboi  tin lamps and the moonlight.

The future of her getting an A
A first class honor and becoming
An aeronautical engineer
That’s her ambition
And I pray for you
Poor daughter of  Malaya
Even though your mama spoils your future

[ Bob Odhiambo (c) 2013, It IS Very Sad]